


I could kiss you a thousand times and never get it right (but let me try anyways)

by sspsdd



Category: Homestuck, Problem Sleuth (Webcomic)
Genre: Fluff, Human AU, M/M, mild but expected violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28299144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sspsdd/pseuds/sspsdd
Summary: Some gay shit happens and Sleuth agrees to help Slick out with a job.Just a few self-indulgent scenes, read it or don't. Ain't none of my business if this gets views.
Relationships: Problem Sleuth/Spades Slick
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Any time you find yourself thinking "wow, I personally don't agree with how this character was portrayed. I should bitch at the author about it" redirect that energy to closing the tab and writing your own story. I'm happy to chat and answer questions in the comments but some of you need to figure out where the line is without me holding your hand.
> 
> Some of you are reasonable, nice people I respect but I want to make it perfectly clear that some of you are not and if you feel like this is about you then it probably is.

As far as stabbing guys went Slick had never been rivaled. Other people might be quicker on the draw or stronger in the muscles but when it came down to technique, to dexterity, to the ability to look at someone and know exactly where all their vital organs were? No one had him beat.

Not until he met Problem Sleuth anyway.

He was just some shitty detective who got his nose into a little too much of the Midnight Crew’s business and as far as first impressions went he had an abysmal sense of fashion too. Some of Slick’s opinions had changed since then but he still thought the white looked terrible and his hat was stupid. Where did he even shop? Bloodstains Emporium?

“C’mon, I’m just sayin’ you wouldn’t have to throw your shirt out every other day if you fuckin’ bought them in a different color,” he said in a tone too casual for someone who was actively in a knife fight.

We find our hero and our villain, titles designated to whomever you’d like by you the reader, in a warehouse on the far side of the docks. One single lightbulb flickers from an office window, the only other light provided by the moon filtering in through dingy cracked windows. The seabreeze howls outside but the concrete and aluminum walls provide a bare minimum of shelter from the biting cold winter winds.

They’re alone, respective associates and crewmembers totally unaware that either is in this particular location at this particular time engaging in this particular fight. It isn’t the first time it’s played out this way and neither of them incorrectly thinks it will be the last.

Sleuth wouldn’t stand for a jab at his clothing much less the sharp jabs as his now year-long rival slashed at him with a knife. The butterfly knife, he was sure, though he hadn’t exactly gotten to take a close look given the circumstances. He bounced back to protectively hold his arms in front of himself and just barely avoided a nasty new wound.

Slick immediately tried again and Sleuth got in a really good, perhaps lucky, parry that jerked the other man’s arm back, “The good guys always wear white.”

There was a pause both as Slick recoiled and as he gave the detective an absolutely baffled look, wracking his brain for what kind of heroes Sleuth could possibly be thinking of, “ _ What? _ No they fucking don’t.”

While Slick was still caught off guard he lunged. Of course the gangster easily saw it coming and stepped to the side as he reached out to grab Sleuth’s arm and twist it behind his back, and of course Sleuth knew he would do just that and yanked downward to knock Slick off balance. The maneuver gave him just enough time to get the upper hand. He knew Slick was a slimy bastard that would squirm away from all of his attacks out in the open but with a hard shove to his chest he sent the man stumbling backwards. It didn’t even take Slick a second to get his footing but he was already being forced on the defensive. He had to backstep or he’d be in trouble for real.

Even so by the time they hit Sleuth’s secondary location, a stack of pallets and crates stamped with the logo of a company that probably didn’t exist, the detective had been hit a few times. Nothing serious despite the blood spotting his sleeves but it was a sacrifice he was making to win this thing. He was sick of Slick getting out of these scuffles scot free, he was going to show him who was better once and for all.

That had been the plan. And it still was the plan.

He had Slick pinned. The detective’s broad bowie knife, because bigger was better obviously, was pressed to his rival’s throat with no real intention of pressing any harder than he already was. He wasn’t a  _ murderer _ after all.

But Slick had his knife sharply poking at Sleuth’s stomach, too. If he so much as twitched he would get gutted.

“C’mon, the good guys? Superman doesn’t wear white. Fucking, Batman? All black. It’s a good look,” Slick chuckled and shot the other man a crooked, antagonistic grin. He prodded the knife further upwards, snagging on a button and popping it loose. The thin blade darted under Sleuth’s coat to press against his ribs and he could feel the cold metal through his thin tank top. He swallowed hard.

“You should try it some time.”   
  
Sleuth rolled his eyes and carefully leaned a little closer, angling his own knife upwards to press into Slick’s jawline, “Or maybe you should lose the black.”

“Aw, I didn’t think you felt that way, Sleuth,” he said as he eyed the detective who immediately gave him a disapproving look, eyes narrowing.

He huffed and backpedaled, “I’m just saying it’s not so bad being on the good side. You might like it.”   
  
“Or,” Slick continued on in his too casual tone, “Maybe  _ you _ should drop the hero act. Look at you, you got some skills. You’d be good at doing what I do. You might even like it. That what you’re afraid of? Liking it?”

It was a complete stalemate and it was clear Slick was stalling for an opening. Sleuth was too. They’d never gotten this far before, it always ended when the circumstances escalated and one of their teammates interrupted them. But now that they were alone? Shit, it was almost romantic.

“I’m not  _ afraid _ of anything, I just have a conscience. Morals. Unlike some people here.”

“Oh? Who might that be?”

Sleuth was suddenly incredibly aware of how few inches were between them, “Dunno. Could be anyone.”

Slick had noticed from the get go. He was impressed Sleuth got this close even with a knife constantly threatening to make his insides into outsides and his blood into blood that wasn’t in his body anymore. Not that he had any room to make a move with the blade to his throat, one mistake and that was it for his own blood. He liked that stuff, it did a real good job of keeping him alive. 

The mobster did have… one last ditch plan. Sort of a last resort. He’d thought about it before, usually followed immediately by a disgusted noise and putting a new hole in a surface that didn’t deserve it. But if there was any time to pull out a plan with no hopes of doing anything other than making things worse it was now because he sure as hell wasn’t seeing an easy way out of this one. Sleuth did a real good job of cornering him, it would be admirable if Slick didn’t intend to do something they’d both regret.

His eyes darted over Sleuth, flicking down to the arm holding the knife and then back to his face. Murky moonlight cast the other man in dramatic shadows and highlights and he could make out every detail of the detective's face so easily. There was a lot Slick had never noticed before or never had the time to notice. The tiny scar across his nose, a mole barely visible on the border of his lip. How unnervingly green his eyes were. Focus. He just needed to move a few inches. Either he was gonna end up dead or he wasn’t but he was banking on this… maybe not working,  _ working _ implied some intended outcome. He just needed to catch Sleuth off guard and that was getting harder and harder to do lately.

“Maybe you should try it,” he continued the conversation, his tone hushed, “One job. Something easy.”

Sleuth could see the gangster slowly inching forward but he didn’t stop him, didn’t twist his knife or press any harder. Maybe he wanted to see what Slick thought he had up his sleeve, maybe some dark recess of his brain was harboring a shred of consideration for the offer. But he really hadn’t… He thought Slick would stop at some point. Or keep talking. Or, or. His brain raced to come up with other outcomes before it screeched to a halt. Slick pressing his lips against Sleuth’s was like running face first into a brick wall. Like someone had punched him, like he was watching a train wreck as it happened. A storm without a calm. He gripped his knife tighter as if he were hanging on for dear life and his brain scrambled to get itself back together enough to function in any manner.

The sensory dissonance between Slick’s warm lips insistently pressed against his own and the bite of a knife pressing into him just as slowly brought him back enough for him to jerk away and gasp. He shoved Slick away and nearly tripped over his own feet as he clutched at the gash across his ribs. Touching it was a mistake and he immediately hissed in pain which seemed to bring a whole new kind of smile to Slick’s face.

The gangster reached up to run a few bony fingers across the thin red line that decorated his throat, blood streaking his dark skin, “Wanna call it even for today?”


	2. Chapter 2

Just a fun little fact, it doesn’t count as a date if you don’t plan on running into each other. Even if neither party tries to leave. Even if someone offers to buy drinks under a thin guise of keeping the other person out of trouble for the night.

And a hot tip? It’s not a date even if Slick points out a shady bar with card suit theming and Sleuth follows him in, it’s just for the greater good. A noble sacrifice. Any good detective would do the same. It’s not like Sleuth had been thinking about Slick much the past month or anything. That- that would be silly. He’d been busy, things kept happening all the time. Crime never stops but weirdly the Midnight Crew hadn’t been at the center of it lately. It’d been some other fucks and even if they didn’t seem as directly effective as the Crew there were definitely more of them. Sleuth and his team of hardboiled detectives had their hands full lately, if it wasn’t one thing it was always another worse thing.

So, really, bumping into Slick on the street was… sort of a comfort. A familiar face. The mobster seemed just as surprised to see him but it took all of two seconds for him to switch on his particularly scummy brand of charisma and ask Sleuth if he’d been staying out of trouble. It didn’t even turn into any kind of argument, they just went back and forth about nothing. It was almost friendly.

And it was still almost friendly.

“So did you think about my offer?” Slick asked in regards to absolutely nothing Sleuth could immediately think of but admittedly he’d been spacing out a little bit. They were in a shitty booth with maybe the stickiest seats Sleuth had encountered all month and the only real lighting that reached them was from a neon sign on the wall and he just could  _ not _ make out what it said from this angle. Maybe it was something about beer? Or b… beans? That couldn’t be right.

His eyes snapped back to Slick and he slowly raised his half empty glass of whiskey to his lips as if he were actually considering whatever the offer was supposed to be.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” the other man said cheerfully, resting his elbows on the table, “And honestly? Between just you ‘n me? Hardly even a crime. I mean  _ is _ it a crime if it’s against another gang?”

Oh, this was about… Yeah, he half remembered Slick trying to get him in on a job together. That was right before he... 

Sleuth shotgunned the rest of his drink and set the glass down a little too hard as he looked away.  _ That _ hadn’t even come up yet. Maybe Slick forgot all about it or maybe it really meant so little to him that he didn’t think it was important. Sleuth had no idea what was going on in that pretty head of his. Pretty? Pretty stupid, yeah, good job Sleuth. Got 'em.

“I think it’s still a crime. But just out of curiosity, theoretically, who’s this other gang?”

“They call themselves The Felt. They weren’t even on my radar until this- god, she’s such a fucking-!” he threw up his hands in frustration and rolled his eyes. The mobster quickly shook his head, “I need another fucking drink. And so do you.”

Sleuth wouldn’t argue with that.

Slick headed back to the bar for the third round of drinks that night and the bartender gave the man sitting back at the table a hard side eye. Sleuth  _ definitely _ wasn’t the type the gangster brought around here and they both knew it.   
  
“What?” Slick shot, “You got somethin’ to say?”

The older, thicker, hairier man gave him a heavy shrug. He rarely had anything to say, “He just seems out of place.”

“We’re all outta place somewhere. Give him a week and he’ll be a regular.”

A long moment of consideration and another shrug, “Hope not. Kid looks like he’s wearing a wire.”

Slick glanced back. He hadn’t even considered anything like that, and he wasn’t going to consider it. And it was out of his mind by the time he returned with their drinks. He set them down and slid into the booth next to Sleuth who immediately reached for the booze.

“So her name’s… She calls herself Snowman now,” he immediately launched into what would definitely border on a rant, “You might remember her as the governor like, eight years ago or something. Back then she was a fucking tyrant and I don’t know what her game here is but her whole crew is…,” he made a disgusted noise and slammed his fist into the thankfully sturdy table, “In my fucking way.”

Sleuth had seen the other man worked up before but this was totally different. Even when they were trying to open eachother up with sharp implements there wasn’t this much raw animosity, Sleuth felt sort of jealous. He wasn’t sure why. He  _ definitely _ didn’t want Slick this pissed off at  _ him _ , he might actually end up gutted if that ever happened. His hand absentmindedly went to the now healed wound that marked his ribs; it had been a shallow cut, it was just messy. Now it was a scar to match all the other scars.

And then something crossed his mind that, really, he should have considered immediately.

“Hold on,  _ how _ do you know her?”

He answered so casually you’d think it was a normal thing Sleuth should have already known, like it was obvious, “I worked under the bitch for almost a decade. And every single day was a nightmare, let me tell you. Paperwork this, forms that. It never fucking  _ ended _ .”

“You,” he paused and narrowed his eyes in disbelief, “You worked in the government?  _ You _ , mister career criminal? Mister burned down half a mall?”

“Hey they never proved that,” he said dismissively and laughed like it was the funniest joke in the world. He leaned closer and slid an arm around Sleuth’s broad shoulders, “You wanna know a secret? I might be committin’  _ less _ crime now. Politics, hoo boy. That’s a whole fucking barrel of worms.”

Sleuth sipped at his drink as he listened, enjoying the weight of Slick’s arm on him. The warmth. He didn’t think he was that much of a light weight but maybe the alcohol was starting to get to him already. By the time he’d finished the glass Slick was just about done getting sidetracked talking about how bullshit government aid was and how anyone on the receiving end of certain programs couldn’t have more than an abysmally small amount in their bank account at any time without losing their aid and undergoing a shitty investigation and Sleuth didn’t understand or absorb much of the information but he was… impressed? that Slick really seemed to know all this.

Slick shook his head a little when he realized he’d gotten wildly off topic and he reeled himself back in, “Right. The Felt though. Those motherfuckers. I’m  _ gonna _ fucking stick it to ‘em and I’m just saying it’s hardly even a crime.”

He happened to glance at Sleuth’s glass and gave him a crooked grin, like there was any part of him that wasn’t crooked. Not a straight cell in his body, “Think about it while I get another drink.”

And Sleuth did think about it. He thought about a few things. Mostly about how he was going to have to deal with some consequences if he drank much more but also about how he never found out Slick worked for the government. What kind of sleuth was he that he’d never turned  _ that _ up? What else didn’t he know?

By the time Slick got back, and it really did feel like an eternity later, he’d also thought about whether he’d sit on this side of the booth again and whether the wound Sleuth had left him with had scarred and, fuck, his stupid brain just kept looping back to that kiss as much as he tried to bat the thought away in the same way someone tries to bat away a large mosquito. It was just there buzzing around.

As soon as Slick sat down next to him Sleuth blurted out, “I’ll do it,” and then paused to run a hand through his hair under his hat, “But. We do it my way.”

“Takin’ the lead? I didn’t know you had it in ya,” Slick chuckled. He leaned closer and poked a finger at Sleuth’s chest, “We’ll talk about it. You wanna play boss you gotta earn it.”

Half of Sleuth’s brain was already doing backflips to justify why this was okay actually: it would get him some inside information, he was luring Slick into trusting him, The Felt  _ were _ a problem he wasn’t having much luck tackling on his own. And the other half… it was fixated on Slick’s finger lingering on his coat, the way the neon pink lighting caught on his cheekbones, the way his neatly trimmed beard hugged his jawline. The scar. He was sure that’s what it was and without thinking he reached out to touch the gangster’s neck.

Slick tensed up and he immediately pulled away but the other man was already grinning at him and readjusting to let Sleuth get a better look, tilting his chin up just a little. Exposing himself. He gave the detective a look like… god, what was it? He just couldn’t tell what Slick was thinking at all.

“It looks good on me, right?” he asked as he leaned back comfortably. And he  _ definitely _ thought about what he was doing as he very deliberately reached out and placed a hand on Sleuth’s side, “What about you? Did it hurt? Did ya bleed much?”

It wasn’t spoken with a tone of concern, just… interest. Sleuth nodded and he wasn’t sure what he was agreeing with. Maybe all of it. Especially the first thing. And when Slick’s hand slid downward to slip under his jacket he didn’t do a damn thing to stop him, and when he pulled up the hem of his shirt to trail up his side he leaned into it.

“I really coulda hurt you,” fingers traced over his ribs and ran along the shallow divot that marked his newest scar, “I could have gutted you like a fish. Left all your organs on the floor then ‘n there.”

God, he really could have. That night had been so close to ending differently. He bit his lip, “You didn’t though.”

“Maybe next time.”

Neither of them were very convinced by that. Slick pulled him closer until Sleuth was practically in his lap and there was a moment like the calm before a storm, whirling grey clouds sucking light from the sky, and then it all came crashing down in a rush of motion. Sleuth’s hand going to the nape of Slick’s neck to pull him closer, the gangster grabbing at his shirt like a lion latching onto prey. Their lips met with enough force to bruise but that didn’t slow either of them down. If the first time they kissed was a calculated tactical maneuver this was the exact opposite: a spontaneous act motivated by nothing other than sheer stupid impulse.

Slick was the first to pull away and gasp for air, his breath coming in short gasps as Sleuth’s hands continued to grab at him. God he just wanted to tear into the detective and it was clear the other man was barely holding himself back much better.

“This is a bad idea,” he mumbled even though he was already leaning into Sleuth’s neck to nip at his flesh.

The detective had to bite his lip hard to stop himself from making a sound that would definitely alert everyone in the bar as to what was happening in this particularly dark corner. He could taste the coppery tang of blood in his mouth but he didn’t care, all he wanted right now was for Slick to keep doing what he was doing.


	3. Chapter 3

Things went back to being a game of cat and mouse. The Crew would pull shit, Team Sleuth would pursue, exit left pursued by bear. The only difference now was…

“How’s it feel bein’ the one doing the backstabbing?” they only had a few minutes but Slick decided to waste it on being as vaguely antagonistic as usual.

They were in a shitty alleyway somewhere. They lost their comrades and bailed this way under the guise of it being a chase while everyone else was busy. They’d done it a few times now, it was a good way to trade information and work on planning things out.

Sleuth frowned and crossed his arms, “What about you? I guess your friends wouldn’t bat an eye at  _ you _ betraying them though, would they?”

Slick laughed, “You think they don’t know?”

He shouldn’t have been surprised, no honor among thieves. Oh god, did that make him a thief? No, he was still on the side of justice and solving mysteries and all that. If it took a crime to solve some other crime so be it, no one was getting hurt besides a dozen green fucks who deserved it.

“We could make this whole cahoots thing easier. You could come over tonight,” Slick said in a tone that suggested he had ulterior motives, which he did.

And Sleuth knew that. When Slick wanted to make something obvious he made it  _ obvious _ and even if the detective was, perhaps, dense in some areas such as his big noggin he was pretty sure he was catching what the mobster was pitching. He'd certainly like to be.

“You think that’s a good idea?”

Slick just shrugged, “Who knows? You aren’t getting anything outta ratting me out.”

There wasn’t any real bluff to call here. Slick was right, he didn’t benefit from snitching. He was just a detective anyways so it wasn’t like he was particularly obligated to work with the police or report on crime if he wasn’t being paid for it. Slick knew that too.

Gunfire and sirens from nearby drew both of their attention. Slick kicked off the wall he was leaning against and instead of heading out like the detective expected he gave Sleuth a firm shove. He almost stumbled over his own feet and his back hit the grimy brick wall behind him but he was too distracted by Slick’s face suddenly taking up his field of vision to care. The mobster’s eyes scanned over him for a few moments before he clicked his tongue in annoyance and shook his head.

“Nine. Brixton street, behind Silver Bell Video. Be late and I won’t be there.”

Slick shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to leave.

“It’s a date!” Sleuth called after him and the mobster paused for a second before he kept walking. It was hard to tell but he might have laughed and Sleuth was just left to press his fingers to his eyelids.

_ It’s a date?  _ Come on Sleuth, that was lame.

\---

If it was a date it was the shittiest date Problem Sleuth had been on and that was saying something considering that time he dragged PI off on a wild goose chase during a date and the Inspector’s nice sweatervest got ruined during a… well, a  _ very _ ill-advised pursuit through some alleyways and over some fences. Needless to say they broke up shortly after.

It was raining, it was dark, he was behind a fucking porno shop, but by god he was at least on time. Or so he thought but he didn’t see Slick anywhere.  _ Was _ he late? Did he somehow get the wrong place despite checking the sign half a dozen times before wandering back here? Did something happen?

Sleuth near jumped out of his skin when movement caught his eye, a writhing shadow sliding out of the darkness to reach out towards him. He was already reaching for his gun when he heard the familiar laugh as Slick doubled over wheezing, water spilling off of his black umbrella to equally colorless puddles at his feet.

“I’m not-,” he was struggling to get a hold of himself but finally he straightened back up, “You look like you saw a fuckin’ ghost. What, you think I’m gonna hurt you?”

Sleuth slowly breathed in and out and waited for his heart to stop racing. That amused, sly look Slick was giving him wasn’t helping at all and neither was what he said next.

“I could, if you want.”

The look on Sleuth’s face just made him laugh again and he shook his head. He held out the umbrella as if it was going to do anything for Sleuth, already soaked as he was. His white clothing was clinging to him, hair plastered to his face, mud and grime ruining the ends of his pants.

“Maybe later. For now let’s get inside, I feel like those green fucks are gonna show up if I hang around anywhere too long,” Slick waited for the detective to get under the umbrella before he led him further down the alleyway and…

Into the back door of a strip club. Not one that was in use but Sleuth knew this place, he helped get it shut down. They were selling counterfeit tigerskin purses, which was both very specific and very illegal. He had to wonder where he’d be now, physically speaking, if he’d passed that up or not been able to close the case.

The interior was less tacky than he remembered. The lighting was still dramatically dimmed but most of the neon signs and distasteful posters had been taken down and a lot of the tables and booths had been gutted and replaced with crates and boxes. The only thing that really stood out was a beat up old pool table near the back of the room and the man standing leaned against it.

And of course Sleuth would recognize that man anywhere. He could and would pick him out of a lineup with a dozen other people. Droog had all the makings of a model from his height and unnervingly proportioned limbs to the way his gaunt cheeks sloped to meet a box-like jawline. A look of disgust crossed his face when he saw Slick come in with his soaked companion but before he could say anything rude a door all but slammed open and a much smaller man came running out with a flaming  _ something _ in his arms. The object was quickly dunked in a trash can and beaten with the little man’s hat until it was sufficiently under control so as to not burn the entire place down.

Droog watched the whole display with a look of boredom, like this sort of thing didn’t surprise him at all. Finally he said, “Clubs, behave. We have a guest.”

Clubs Deuce blinked and looked around in surprise before spotting the detective for what seemed like the first time to him. He put his singed hat back on and gave the rim of the trash can a pat as if to reassure either Droog or, heavens forbid, the absolutely victimized item that it was under control.

Sleuth felt like he needed to sit down.  _ These _ were the people who had half the city in their pocket? That regularly pulled off daring heists and kept not only the city’s police but his team of hardboiled dicks on their toes?  _ This _ was how they operated? 

“And  _ what _ is all this? You can’t just bring in any drowned rat you find,” Droog was closer than he had been the last time Sleuth looked at him. He tapped the tip of his pool cue against the detective’s shoulder as he stood with rainwater pooling at his feet. He really couldn’t argue against it, he knew he looked absolutely miserable.

“I can do whatever-” Slick started but rolled his eyes when the tones of a default ringtone came muffled from his pocket. He pulled out a shiny black phone and flipped it open, turning and wandering across the room as he answered it, “What the fuck you want?”

And Droog took the opportunity to swoop in. He prodded Sleuth with a few firm taps and a, “Come along.”

He didn’t even wait for a response before he headed to a door against the back wall. Sleuth looked back towards Slick for some sense of what to do but the mobster was already deep in a conversation consisting mostly of frustrated grunts and hand motions. Fuck it. He came this far and even if he thought Droog was the most likely to intentionally murder him in cold blood that probably wouldn’t happen today- and if it did Sleuth would take the fucker down with him.

Sleuth found him in a room that had probably been some kind of changing room at some point, and then a makeshift sweat factory, and now repurposed to some sort of living space. A large bed took up a section of the room and another wall was occupied by a bookshelf and two flanking dressers, one of which Droog was currently perusing. As he heard the detective come in, however, he turned around.

“Take your coat off,” he asked. No, it was definitely more of a command, “I’m sure you’re cold. And worse, you’re making an awful mess.”

Sleuth  _ was _ cold now that he thought about it. He hadn’t really noticed before but the rainwater had soaked through his jacket despite Slick’s best efforts to shield him from the downpour; he didn’t hesitate to pull it off and Droog promptly took it from him to toss it into a hamper. Did they even have a washing machine here? Were these mobsters going down to the local Quick ‘n Dry to do laundry?

Naturally this wasn't a question that would be answered. As soon as Droog spotted the tanktop Sleuth was wearing, not only wholly inappropriate to match with his coat but also filled with holes and marked by what was certainly a sauce stain of some sort, the detective should have counted himself lucky he wasn't dismembered then and there.

Droog's hands at his hips sliding up to tug at his shirt was maybe worse than being torn limb from limb. They were just about the same height and that only served to put the detective at eye level with him as Droog gave him the most disgusted look possible.

"I don't know why I expected our fearless leader to have better taste."

Before Sleuth could think of any kind of witty comeback Droog had snatched his hat off his head and was pulling his shirt off. And he thought Slick moved fast.

“Woah pal,” Sleuth pulled away a little when the other man went for his belt, “You gotta at least buy me a drink first.”

Droog didn’t even hesitate to bat any kind of insinuation aside, “We aren’t pals and I promise I do infinitely better than you at least twice a month. Tell Ace I said hello, by the way.”

To say that was anything Sleuth was expecting to hear today would be an understatement and all he could manage in response was an absolutely offended sound. Was he going to have to call a meeting to see if his whole team was sleeping with the Midnight Crew? No one should have expected better from  _ him,  _ but Ace? And what about Pickle Inspector, where was he in all this? Did Sleuth want to know?

It served as enough of a distraction for Droog to entirely de-pants the detective though he allowed him the dignity of keeping his only slightly damp boxers. By the time Sleuth was back from the series of thoughts he had to go through to try and think of anything to disprove Ace’s involvement with the mobster Droog was already back across the room rummaging through the dresser.

As it turned out they were about the same size, at least vertically speaking. Droog’s pants were a little tight on him due to a terminal case of ass-for-days disease but he managed to dig up a decent black dress shirt and sweater vest combo that obscured how badly Sleuth’s fat tits were trying to bust out of the whole getup. Droog was artfully arranging Sleuth’s tie when Slick barged in.

“Alright assholes change of plans,” he said quickly, “We gotta go. Now.”

Droog nodded his head and gave the quietest of  _ mhm _ s without even looking away from what he was doing, “I’m sure we do. And where is it we’re meant to be going?”

“Felt manor. They’re hittin’ up some offices on the other side of town, if we move now we can be there before they even know what hit ‘em. Hearts is bringing the car around now.”

He stared at Sleuth for more than a few moments and the detective was starting to think Droog had indiscriminately drawn a dick on his face in an incredibly stealthy and daring tactical maneuver. Finally he just grabbed Sleuth’s arm and hauled him off, saying something about hats. His head  _ did  _ feel a little cold without one and his hair was in an absolute state without it.

He found himself in Slick’s room. Temporary room, probably, since this place seemed like a backup hideout. Maybe even a backup backup hideout. The room was a mess with a twin bed shoved in a corner, a few boxes strewn about, a couch at an unserviceable angle, and bottles sitting just about everywhere. It reminded Sleuth of his own house and that didn’t say anything good about either of them.

“So what’s the plan?” Sleuth asked as he sat on the edge of the bed and eyed Slick who was knocking things off the top of a large chest.

“Gettin’ you a hat. You think I wanna be seen in public with the likes of your naked skull? It’s indecent.”

That wasn’t what Sleuth had meant at all but when Slick pulled out a black hat identical to his own and tossed it to the detective he didn’t argue. It wasn’t as stylish as his serviceable white fedora but he’d have to settle just this once. By the time he had it on Slick was lounging on the bed next to him with a big grin on his face. 

“Told ya you’d look better in black.”

Sleuth sputtered out a noncommittal response that trailed off when he felt a hand wrapping around his wrist to pull him down next to the gangster, “If this goes alright maybe you do this full time, eh, what do you say?”

He was laying face to face with Slick now, mere inches between them. They’d been this close before but it felt like the first time Sleuth really had time to take in just how many scars covered the other man’s skin. Sleuth could pick out a few he was personally responsible for.

He reached out to touch one of them, running his thumb along a jagged line just below Slick’s eye. It really was a wonder the other man was in one piece still. Sleuth pulled him closer to placatingly kiss him, only pulling away to answer, “You know I can’t do that.”

“You came this far,” Slick was on top of him in one swift motion, pinning his shoulder and peering down at him with a grin that would have been menacing to anyone else. Sleuth just bit his lip as the other man practically purred, “Go a little farther.”

And he absolutely would have, he  _ desperately _ wanted to, had an absolutely unperturbed  _ ahem _ not come from the doorway. Droog tapped his foot against the floor and Slick just laughed and rolled off of Sleuth.

“Alright, let’s get this job over with.”

And so Sleuth found himself roped into what would shake out to be one of the most horrifying experiences of his life though he didn’t know it at the time and wouldn’t know it for another two hours. For now he was enjoying the thrill of living life on the edge and making bad choices and he’d ride that high until it all came crashing down.


	4. Chapter 4

It was still a dark and stormy night. Maybe darker and stormier, even, than it had been earlier. A nondescript black car full of exactly nine guns, a dozen gallons of gasoline, multiple kinds of explosives, four mobsters, and one detective sped towards its destination of an old mansion on the edge of town.

It was 10:15 when Hearts batted Droog’s hand away from the radio and scolded him about trying to turn off the classics (in this case Frank Sinatra, Slick was pretty sure, not that he liked that kind of shit). Droog gave him the most exhausted look that he gave anyone any time he felt particularly inconvenienced which was most of the time. There wasn’t anywhere else he’d rather be though, Slick knew that.

Clubs had wormed between himself and Problem Sleuth and was chatting the detective’s ear off, leaving Slick to stare dejectedly out the window at the blur of city lights streaked through the rain. Droog must have noticed how bored and annoyed he looked because a few minutes later his phone vibrated in his pocket.

[You should ask him out properly] followed by a clarifying and predictable, [We could use a detective in our pocket].

Slick rolled his eyes and typed out a quick, [were not in highschool i cant just ask him out].

[You could have fooled me with how you were all over him earlier.]

Ugh, he ended the sentence with a period. That was  _ definitely _ sarcasm. They’d been texting each other for years, Slick knew what every single little change in Droog’s typing style meant. Unfortunately that meant the other man could read him just as well and it would just lead to an awful game of going back and forth about nothing.

[get fukt dd]

He could just imagine the look on Droog’s face: almost exactly the same as usual but with a slightly raised eyebrow. They ended up going back and forth about nothing for a solid twenty minutes before they finally arrived at their destination, the expedition expedited by the rain forcing people to reconsider taking a car anywhere.

The Felt manor was still a haze through the worsening weather and gated off behind wrought iron fences and neatly trimmed hedges. The crew parked as near as they could get without it being obvious though no one should have been around anyway. And if someone was? Well, that was gonna be  _ their  _ problem real fucking soon.

It was 10:48 when they finally got inside. Hearts said it didn't look like anyone was keeping watch and Droog didn't spot any real security system so they opted to use the totally unlocked front door. What kind of gang just leaves their front door open? The kind that's full of soon to be dead green idiots. And they met no resistance once they were inside so they split up to cover as much ground as possible. This place was fucking huge. Droog moseyed off to have a real good look around while Clubs went to double check for The Felt and get a head start on the arson. Hearts would go right down to where the safe was supposed to be and get to work on that just like they planned.

What safe, Sleuth asked? The one they were here to break into of course. Burning this place to the ground and getting some green torsos dead was just icing on the crime cake.

"Hold on, you didn't say anything about a safe before."

Slick was examining a grandfather clock that didn't seem to be in working order. It matched the four other clocks in the foyer that weren't in working order, and the three that unfortunately were.

"And you didn't ask about a safe before," he retorted as if Sleuth could have known about it otherwise. He gave the clock one more sneer before moving on to knock a smaller one off a nearby shelf and watch it clang to the ground, its wood casing splintering and the glass face shattering, "You gonna back out now that we're breakin' a few more laws than you thought?"

He expected some kind of noncommittal shrug or an attempt to argue. Not, "What's inside?"

Slick had to fully turn back to Sleuth. He didn't expect that and he didn't have an answer. Not because he was caught off guard, he just had no idea what the Felt were hiding.

"Dunno. But we're gonna find out today. That's why we're here."

They wouldn't find out at 11:00 because that's when they were wandering down a hallway, dousing it with gasoline as they went. Slick was dousing anyway, Sleuth was just here to hold equipment and comment on how green this place was. It was  _ very _ green. Sleuth said he kind of liked it and Slick had a moment of absolute repulsion before he got a good look at the detective in that black shirt and tie and came back to his senses. But he knew the other man had shit taste, why else would he even humor Slick?

At 11:09 there was gunfire upstairs and at 11:09:30 Slick’s walkie talkie crackled to life. Apparently one or two of the Felt had stayed behind. Clubs was already handling it.

It wasn't handled enough ten minutes later when a loud crash came from a few rooms away and Slick and Sleuth both swung around in surprise, nearly knocking each other to the ground. Sleuth mumbled some kind of apology as they quickly pulled away from each other and tried to figure out what the hap was fuckening. Sounded like the front door, Slick said, the jig might be up. And by up he meant on, they were just getting started. No reason to get caught with their metaphorical pants around their metaphorical ankles though. He knew the value of a more tactical position than standing around in a hallway and Sleuth didn’t need more prompting than a tug on his wrist to get him heading towards the far end.

Most of the nearby rooms were just full of junk, couches strewn about and book cases with less books and more clocks in an eternal cycle of desynced metronome. Disgusting. Slick didn’t have time to pick and choose, though, with the sound of another door slamming open and footsteps in the distance. He picked a door, flung it open, and ducked inside with Sleuth on his heels.

The coat closet perplexingly located between some kind of dining hall and yet another lounge was already small and stuffed with sickeningly green coats but with the addition of two fully grown men there was hardly space enough to move and that became apparent the moment the door was hastily pulled closed. As Slick turned around in the dark he shouldered something on a perilously stacked shelf and a moment later a box of nondescript and unseen objects fell down. In the ensuing shuffling to avoid being pelted by the whatever was falling Sleuth tripped over what was either his own feet or Slick’s and tumbled forward, thwarting the other man’s attempt to avoid ending up with his ass on the floor. 

There was a moment of silence as they both strained to hear if anyone was plodding towards the closet but by 11:23 nothing had happened and whatever danger was in the hallways had headed elsewhere. With whatever potential target they could have had wandering away they were left with only two options: pick themselves up off the floor and get a move on or…

Slick didn’t have to see the other man to know he had a stupid grin on his face as he shifted in the dark to get more comfortable in the gangster’s lap. He couldn't see Sleuth but he could feel him inches away.

"So," the detective asked in a tone that was probably supposed to sound suave but just came off as incredibly dorky, "you come here often?"

Slick humored him with a dry chuckle, "Keep this up and I'm gonna."

There was a pause.

“Hey, did you ever play seven minutes in heaven when you were in highschool?”

It took a second for it to even click in Slick’s head what that was. He hadn’t thought about school in  _ years.  _ He shook his head, “Nah. Wasn’t really the social type back then. I know, I know. Hard to believe with how charming and charismatic I am now.”

"Wanna do it now?"

"You think we got seven minutes to spare?"

Problem Sleuth started to pull his hands away from Slick but found them roughly grabbed and placed back where they were. Slick knew, logically, that the rest of the crew was working hard right now to ruin a bunch of green lives and that he shouldn't be fucking around in some closet.

But God did he just want to stay like this for a while. Who was he to not give into every single whim he had?

His hands gripped at the detective's clothing to pull him closer until there wasn't any space between them. Slick always thought of himself as a skeleton key but the way Sleuth’s body fit perfectly against his, arms wrapped around his waist and lips pressing with desperation against his neck, it pulled at him in a way he… didn’t hate. Maybe it was just because the other man was responsible for a nonzero amount of his scars, or maybe it was that they shared the same brand of poor impulse control. Whatever it was, it made him ache for more when Sleuth pressed wet kisses against his collar bone. He started to slide down further, hands on Slick’s belt, but the gangster grabbed his chin and roughly pulled him back up. Sleuth let out a surprised yelp that was quickly muffled by Slick kissing him and the detective immediately leaned into it. His hands went to slide up the other man's shirt but didn't go much further as Slick’s fingers lingered on the detective's abs, idly and distractedly tracing circles as he practically melted into Sleuth’s kiss. He'd be happy to stay just like this forever, or at least for the foreseeable future, but things were never that easy.

Slick damn near jumped out of his skin when his radio hissed to life. He'd almost forgotten where he was but reality came crashing back down and his blood ran ice cold as Droog's voice came in to deliver the message.

"She's here."

In the seconds before it turned to 11:30 the two men disentangled themselves and stumbled out of the closet just in time to hear the whole building shudder and gunshots ring out. Whatever just happened was near the foyer and Slick and Sleuth exchanged a glance before booking it.

In less than a minute they were on the scene and it was grim. Blood streaked the floor, ending at several green-clad corpses. Bullet holes riddled the walls and smoke was pouring in from somewhere accompanied by embers drifting slowly downward from the ceiling.

And there she was. Snowman. Slick’s face scrunched in contempt at the sight of his ex-boss. Ex-a-lot-of-things. Soon to be an X on a list, he thought. He was already reaching for his knife but he was too slow on the draw.

She had a silver revolver trained between his eyes and the most unimpressed expression possible. With her free hand she slowly lowered the obscenely long cigarette holder from her lips to exhale a languid trail of smoke.

"Spades," she said simply as she took a step forward, "How long has it been? Still keeping up the games with all your little cronies I see."

She didn't bat a single, perfectly mascara'd eyelash at Slick drawing a knife and stepping towards her. He didn't know if she'd really shoot him but he knew she wouldn't shoot him  _ yet. _

"Are you having fun? You've caused me quite a bit of trouble."

Slick grinned up at her, "Oh I'm not even done yet."

"Is that so?" she lowered the gun and took a drag off her cigarette and Slick sized the chance to lunge at her. Now or never. He wouldn't get a better opportunity.

He wouldn't get a better opportunity.

He was just too slow, Snowman was always two steps ahead and in this case those two steps were her right foot in front of her left foot.

At first Slick wasn't sure what happened. Things felt darker and it wasn't until a few seconds later that a searing pain cracked his skull and he doubled over as he desperately grabbed at his face.

"An eye for an eye, Spades," she was muffled by the steady beat of blood pumping through his head, pounding in his ears. The rush of heat making him feel sick.

Someone was yelling, Sleuth probably, but the only thing Slick could focus on was the fact that she'd fucking  _ stabbed him _ in the  _ eye. _ That was supposed to be his thing! He could hardly see her between the red that wetly clouded his vision and the fuzzy blur the room had taken on but he stumbled forward anyways.

Suddenly he felt like he'd been hit by a truck and then

nothing.


	5. Chapter 5

"Eggs. Middle shelf. Milk too. Right above 'em."

"You know you can replace the lightbulb, right? The fridge doesn't have to be plunged in eternal night."

"Shut ya trap or I'll shut it with these omelettes we're makin'."

Sleuth couldn't argue with that without ending up with a mouth full of eggs. He rummaged around the pitch black refrigerator for the ingredients, cursing whoever had moved the eggs since yesterday. Probably Deuce, he didn't think Droog could even cook.

He passed the mostly empty carton of milk off to his hulking cohort and moved aside a jar of pickled… what were those? Tiny onions? He shoved the tiny onions aside and finally spotted what had to be the eggs behind them. He triumphantly grabbed them and stood up.

"Seriously, it's a nightmare in there."

Hearts just rolled his eyes as he finished washing the dishes. They  _ had  _ been clean but  _ someone _ lured Sleuth into helping him make pancakes in the night and had left the whole kitchen a mess.

"It's temporary."

Sleuth had something witty to say and was prepared to say it but as he opened his mouth he heard Slick’s voice for the first time in three days.

Raspy, dry, but all the same Slick, "Someone better be making food in here."

Sleuth’s arms went weak and he dropped the eggs to the floor as he turned around. The leader of the Midnight Crew leaned against the doorway, his face impossibly gaunt and his head more bandages than not. He slumped to one side as he took care not to put any pressure on the stump of his arm. Even in loose pajamas Sleuth could see the bulge of bandages beneath.

"White hats, can't trust ya with nothing," Boxcars scoffed and gave Sleuth a rough pat on the back, shoving him towards Slick, "I'll clean this up. Shoo."

For a second he just stared in disbelief, having already been prepared for the worst. Or he thought he was, he was glad he wouldn't have to find out the hard way.

"You're…," he looked the other man over before shaking his head and half laughing, "You look like shit."

Slick wandered over to the dining table and all but collapsed in a chair, "What happened?"

Sleuth followed after, hovering around him before leaning against the table. It had all been a blur but he wasn't surprised he remembered more than Slick.

"That uhhh Snowman got you right in the eye. I tried to get to you but the fire… I guess it collapsed part of the ceiling. Right on top of you. We hardly got you out," he shook his head. Thinking about it made his stomach turn; his line of work put him in dangerous situations all the time but this was different. He thought he'd lost Slick, "If Droog wasn't… I had no idea he was a doctor."

"Oh yeah he did the whole medical school shtick," Slick dismissively waved his single remaining hand like ten years of specialized schooling was trivial, "Didn't even last a year as a doctor, the big baby."

There was a long pause as they just sat in silence and the situation sunk in. Finally Slick sighed, sounding like he'd aged a decade in the three days he'd been out, "I'm gonna miss my arm. And my eye."

Sleuth had been intently staring off into the middle distance thinking about all the things he could have done differently but he looked down when he felt a hand wrapping around his own. Slick’s fingers were so thin and so cold and recent scabs scratched at the detective's skin and he didn't hesitate to intertwine his fingers with Slick’s, maybe holding on a little too tightly.

Despite everything there was still that stupid crooked smile on Slick’s face like nothing was wrong. Sleuth had been so afraid he'd never see it again, his chest felt tight at the thought that Slick had almost for real died.

"You're still wearing our colors. You change your mind about joining us?"

Sleuth blinked in confusion and then shook his head when it clicked, "Of course not, I have to get back to work now that I know you're okay."

"Aw come on, it'll be fun."

"People are already looking for me, Slick."

"What if I die while you aren't here? What if I just spontaneously combust?"

"The crew isn't gonna let that happen."

"You'd be so good doing what we do. You 'n me, together. No one could stop us."

"Slick, please, I love you but I have work piling up."

Sleuth barely even realized what he said, he'd thought it so many times already it just slipped out. But it was too late. Slick was giving him the smuggest look possible.

"You  _ love _ me, huh?"

"I- work! I should head out before- you know Ace and Pickle do worry, I bet they're-" he looked around like anyone or anything could save him from the monumental amount of embarrassment he was causing himself, "Would you look at the time it's already I-have-to-go-O-clock. I better uh get on that."

"Sleuth do you like me… or do you  _ like  _ like me?" and just like that it felt like Slick was back to his old self.

Sleuth heaved a dramatic sigh and he couldn't help but smile though he still refused to make anything close to eye contact with Slick. He didn't know if he'd be able to get the words out if he knew the other man was looking right at him.

"What if I do?" he asked, still holding Slick’s hand, "What're you gonna do about it?"

"I dunno," he brought Sleuth’s hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to his knuckles, "I'd have to tell you I'm fine, and that there's nothin' to worry about," a pause, hesitation, "And that I love you too."

Sleuth pressed his eyes closed for just a moment. He thought… he really had worried Slick might not feel the same way, he felt so stupid now. And relieved. And happy, overwhelmingly so. He hadn't realized it but he'd been holding his breath since he stopped talking. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

"That is," Slick continued in his teasing tone, " _ if _ you  _ like  _ like me."

Sleuth finally looked back at Slick, dipping down to press light kisses to what little of his face was free of bandaging. His chapped lips, his bruised cheek, his dark eyelid, none of it was safe and before long they were both laughing like nothing bad had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. Hi. You made it to the end. If you aren't about to say something rude and unnecessary I'm proud of you :)
> 
> So this little thing was something I just wrote for myself whenever I was having trouble sleeping. I did consider not even sharing it but hey, maybe someone else will appreciate it too. Thanks for reading!


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